


The Greater The Risk

by jixie



Series: Courage and Cowardice [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Domestic, Drama, F/M, Gore, Happy Ending, Marriage, Relationship(s), Trash Ship, garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jixie/pseuds/jixie
Summary: Being on the periphery of Klingon culture is one thing, it's another to be immersed. After settling down with Grilka on Qo'noS, Quark realizes that he's only just scratched the surface. Between political intrigue, the business end of a bat'leth, Romulans, and disastrous dinner parties... the honeymoon was over before it began. Sequel to "Kill The Envious Moon".





	1. Courage and Cowardice

**Author's Note:**

> ['Courage and Cowardice' Series Cover image](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/a33b7477-1d1c-4691-a12d-9803b16b81b0/dcv3308-f1c9cd0a-1aaa-4959-8e83-069dc16da9d0.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2EzM2I3NDc3LTFkMWMtNDY5MS1hMTJkLTk4MDNiMTZiODFiMFwvZGN2MzMwOC1mMWM5Y2QwYS0xYWFhLTQ5NTktOGU4My0wNjlkYzE2ZGE5ZDAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.H-7FH6dhD7uG8PYnmU9j92k6H3TNtTL-en_RHoGmf1E) (art by Jixie)  
> Star Trek: Deep Space Nine © Paramount Television  
> Special thanks to the magnificent [SaintEpithet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintEpithet/), an exemplary beta reader, wellspring of great ideas, and authority on Trek canon.  
> This is a sequel to "Kill The Envious Moon" and follows the events of that story. While it also references events from "178 Words For Rain", that is a stand-alone and not a prerequisite.

"Prepare yourself!"

It was the only warning Quark got before Grilka tackled him. In one fluid motion, she knocked him off his feet and casually tossed him onto the bed like a sack of potatoes.

"Careful with the jacket!"

"To Gre'thor with your jacket!"

Quark frantically scrambled to undo the decorative, fiddly clasp _before_ she could tear it off him, which had been the all too tragic end for some of his favorite overcoats.

From the foot of the bed she tensed, the beautifully defined muscles in her thighs rippling. And then she pounced like a grishnar cat, pinning him, and began mock biting his neck and arms.

He finished squirming out of the jacket just in time, and she made a point to bunch it up and fling it across the room. The rest of his outfit was not so lucky. Grilka grinned smugly at the sound of tearing cloth.

Mock bites turned into aggressive kissing, sharp teeth flashing against sensitive skin. He grabbed her face and kissed her deeply, and for a moment she allowed it, but then broke away and continued the attack.

***

Alexander had been right. Qo'noS was not as bad as Quark expected.

It was one thing to be on the periphery of Klingon culture, it was another to be immersed. On Deep Space Nine, the visiting Klingons had been military men and women, either battle-weary or tensely ready for a fight. Those who weren't frustrated and looking for something to prove, were itching for the glory of battle. They were consumed with patriotism and had outsiders to impress... or to menace.

He'd thought that Grilka and Martok were the rare open-minded and reasonable exceptions.

It turned out the the majority were somewhere in-between. The homeworld was full of civilians and politicians, who cared deeply about honor and battle glory, but weren't going around starting fights every day.

People like D'Ghor were an exception, not a rule. On the whole they weren't exactly _welcoming_ , but not one of them saw the Ferengi as any sort of a threat, and weren't interested in trying to challenge him. Tumek had seen this coming for a while, and wisely rooted out any obvious dissidents. Still, conflict from within the House of Grilka would always be a risk.

Ultimately, Grilka ended up receiving far more harassment than Quark did. As far as he was concerned, that was somehow worse-- how _dare_ they threaten her-- and it left him feeling frustratingly helpless. Grilka, on the other hand, was already an old hand at this. She'd been through it before, when she'd taken control of her House. She knew what battles to pick, and how to prevent things from escalating, who her allies were, and who not to trust.

***

"This was political suicide, you know," Sirella told her.

"Why yes, the wedding _was_ beautiful," Grilka replied, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "The move went well, my husband is settling in nicely, and we're both very happy."

Sirella huffed, both amused and irritated. She, too, had inevitably been pulled into the Council when Martok had cleaned up. As the old was replaced with the new, he'd made a point to add more women into positions of power. The sole matriarch of a Great House had been a great choice; his own wife... perhaps less so. There were only a handful of others, and so Grilka and Sirella found themselves allies in a still male-dominated Council.

They'd developed a sort of friendly rivalry. Between Grilka, Worf, and his son Alexander, the lady of House Martok found herself hopelessly stuck in the mire that was inter-species relations.

Sirella hated it.

"It's bad enough that you had to have that perverted relationship with a Ferengi," she scolded. "But marrying and bringing him _here_ is crumbling the very foundations of our Klingon heritage."

"Hmmmm, yes. It's all a part of my diabolical plan to destroy the Empire from within."

"Laugh if you must, but this relationship is unreasonable and unsustainable. You should have known better after what happened with your child."

Grilka swallowed back the rage and bile that rose up in her throat.

She knew how to pick her battles.

***

They started out with alternating schedule for their residence, spending a while on Qo'noS before shuttling back to Deep Space Nine for a few months. Broik, after years of dedicated service, was finally promoted to upper management. Of course he'd already stepped up to run the bar whenever Quark was off-station or otherwise indisposed, but he was happy that it was finally official-- and even happier with the fat raise he was able to negotiate. The bar itself was doing well, business was good, and the bottom line was better. Quark would never admit that Broik probably did a better job running it than he did, and was irritated when Grilka bluntly pointed it out.

Strangely, one of Quark's biggest frustrations was the hollow victory that was marrying into wealth. He was finally set for life, but without having earned it with some kind of scheme, it was strangely disappointing. The game was just as important as the prize, if not more... he now understood why even the wealthiest Nagus continued his wheeling and dealing, and it wasn't just greed. It was something to _do_ , something that gave a sense of accomplishment.

Grilka watched as all of this was coming to a head. Going back and forth between Qo'noS and Deep Space Nine was already becoming a chore. Worse, it was only making it harder for her husband to let go of his old life. She'd been married before and knew this would inevitably develop into some vicious fights.

He needed a job.

***

Much to Worf's frustration, he was slowly but surely becoming more ingrained into the lives of the woman he admired but had spurned him twice, and the obnoxious Ferengi bartender that he thought he'd seen the last of after leaving Deep Space Nine.

"...and wasting time on frivolous pursuits..."

The rest of the party roared with laughter as Alexander belted out impersonations... except for Worf, of course.

The small group been united by something greater than ethnicity, allegiances, religion, or politics.

It was board member Alexander Rozhenko who dubbed it "The Loser's Club for Misfits and Degenerates". Worf had been the inadvertent founder, and insisted he wanted nothing to do with it. Quark became the de facto ringleader, but was really just a pawn for his wife Grilka. It was hard to tell who was worse off: the horrible little Ferengi who had _no business_ being on Qo'noS, or the depraved Klingon who'd intentionally married him. The Klingon-loving Trill Jadzia Dax was posthumously named a member of the board, which by extension, made Ezri Dax an honorary member as well.

Unofficially, membership included _any_ alien crazy enough to immigrate to Qo'noS, serve on the Empires ships or stations, get married or adopted into Klingon families; the Klingons who loved them; and the hybrids who were born into it. Or anyone, really, who didn't conform: all of the misfits and degenerates of Qo'noS.

Having vetoed Worf on the prune juice, the official drink was Maparian ale with a hint of pazafer.

Their official motto, "Welcome to the club, Mak'dar."

'Club meetings' took place in Martok or Grilka's homes, depending on the mood. Martok himself was tickled, but it also meant Sirella was exposed to far more of the wretched inter-species nonsense she reviled. _That_ , Grilka got a not-so-secret kick out of.

They were at Alexander's-- and by extension, Martok's-- eating and drinking and trash talking. It was one of the rare occasions Martok was able to join them, along with two of Alex's old friends, Katogh and Doran, who'd served with him on the Rotarran and the Ya'Vang during the war.

"--which is why fun should be outlawed," Alex continued, in an exaggerated deep voice.

"Excellent!" Martok boomed. "That sounds just like our Worf."

"I simply do not see the entertainment value in this." Worf's complaint left the others in tears. He did not see the irony, either.

"Do Quark next!" Grilka urged.

" _Please_ don't."

"Nuchney. I'm Hwarfh, son of Cheldar," Alex teased.

Quark responded with some creative profanity, which only caused the others to laugh harder.

"No, fufh _you_. Yip yong ping pong--"

He scrambled over and started slapping the mixed-Klingon across the head, more annoyed than offended, knowing full well he could only get away with this sort of thing with Alexander. Martok pounded his fist on the table and howled, and Grilka was doubled over.

"Stop hitting me," Alexander said, laughing. "Or I'll box your ears."

Quark shot him a baleful look... and raised his hands to protect his lobes, just in case. "No fair. For us that's like getting kicked in the--"

"I'm not actually going to, you dork."

"Do Doran!" Katogh urged.

"See... see... I don't th-think thats, um, a good idea b-because, it's, ah..."

"Shut up." But Doran was giggling as she protested. "Wh-wait. Let me do Alex..." Grabbing a glass of bloodwine, she purposefully dumped it onto the table and her lap. "Oh _noooo_ , not _again_."

This time, Worf laughed.

***

Another round later, and Martok started talking to Quark and Grilka in a voice that was meant to be a whisper, but was still at normal volume.

"I've been thinking about this. When you two first met, you discovered D'Ghor's double-dealing by reviewing financial records. It was _very_ unconventional." He paused. "It's become increasingly difficult to uncover corruption and treachery in the Empire. I know that the work's not done, but those who are left have become quite good at covering their tracks." With that, Martok leaned forward, voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Could the evidence I need be found in the Empire's ledgers?"

"It's very possible," Grilka replied. "D'Ghor's actions left a trail, which Quark found pretty easily... since he knew what to look for."

"Child's play. And since most Klingons aren't exactly... financially savvy, it's likely you'll find evidence of any bribes as well," Quark said.

"Klingons don't take bribes," she quickly corrected him.

" _Everyone's_ got a price," he argued.

"Would you be able to advise us on what to look for?"

"It would probably be easier if you just hired me."

Martok choked. "Hire you... to look a finances?"

"Yes!" Grilka said. "I think it's a wonderful idea."

"But..."

"Don't you guys have accountants? Financial advisers?" This earned him blank looks. "You can't be serious. You _have a currency_. Who-- how do--" Quark hid his face in his hand in disgust.

"Look," Grilka turned to Martok. "Not only did Quark find D'Ghor's trail, he's also helped me with finances over the years. The cost savings were considerable, and he was able to minimize our losses when we were bleeding money during the war. I'm sure he could do the same for you. You could..." she glanced back at her husband, "... offer a percentage?"

"In addition to my usual finder's fee."

"Finder's fee?" Martok balked at the idea. "I don't know. It will be a tough sell to convince the rest of the Council to even review the books. Bringing in a Ferengi to do it..."

It was Quark's turn to pound his fist on the table. "A Ferengi is going to do the job better, faster, and more efficiently."

"I don't disagree, however... your kind have a... reputation for being untrustworthy."

"It's a well-earned reputation. But let's face it, even if there _was_ a little bit of embezzling, you'd still come out ahead."

"Quark!" Grilka protested.

"What? I wouldn't do it. I'm only saying--"

"But it means you're _thinking_ about it--"

"Of course I'm thinking about it, Grilka. It's a bad investment though, a high-stakes gamble with a poor payout. You only take those kinds of risks when the reward is substantial enough--"

"And I would kill you."

"And you would kill me."

"Enough," Martok interrupted. He studied Quark for a moment, then shook his head. "Let me think about it."

***

Almost immediately, Quark regretted accepting the Treasurer position for the Klingon Empire.

The Klingons _did_ have accountants and financial advisers and controllers and payables and receivables clerks, because anyone who used currency _had_ to have those things. It was just, by and large, they weren't very good at it. Grilka's attitude towards 'filthy ledgers' was a common one.

Which meant that it was an unglamorous job that they didn't do well.

Which was why their books were an unholy nightmare. He'd thought Grilka's financial records were a mess, but compared to the ruling government's, hers were downright competent.

"I should've charged a higher fee," he complained to her. "This is a mess. They're not paying me well enough for this."

But he'd brought armfuls of padds home to work on and there was an excitement in his eyes as he dug into them. Grilka watched, delighted with this new turn. She knew the Klingon Empire would benefit-- both in uncovering dishonorable officials, and in getting a good return on investment. All while giving her bored and fussy husband something to do. As far as she was concerned, it was a win-win for all involved.

***

Their schedules occasionally overlapped, and Grilka did not hide her enthusiasm when it did. Her, in the Great Hall, as an ancillary Council member for the Klingon equivalent of small claims court. Him, a few rooms away, sifting through veritable mountains of paperwork.

This time they'd met for lunch, but he was too wound up to eat. He looked at her with wild eyes, desperately trying to explain the Gordian knot that was the Klingon High Council's ledgers.

"You've got to tell Martok to fire their accountants."

"What? That's not how it works here. If they've done something dishonorable--"

"They're worse than dishonorable! They're _incompetent!_ " He was pacing, frenzied. "I need to hire some actual bean counters. I wonder if Rom can send indentured servants to work off their sentence time..."

She laughed.

"This isn't funny." He grabbed his head like it was going to explode. "It's a _nightmare_. I don't know how I let you talk me into this..."

"It was _your_ idea," Grilka reminded him.

He shot her a furious glare.

It only made her laugh harder.

***

A few weeks after the fact, Grilka regretted encouraging her husband to accept the Treasurer position for the Klingon Empire.

She was practicing bat'leth fighting with Sirella. "I understand Quark's putting together some evidence for several corrupt Council members," she teased.

"All of whom have already been handled," Sirella replied. "There have been no _new_ findings, which has made this whole farce a very costly mistake." A dark expression crossed her face. "And you don't even realize the trouble the two of you have caused Martok and the Empire."

Grilka ducked and parried, the blade rattling in her hand as their swords clashed.

"Oh, I'm quite aware. You've told me many times already."

"No, I'm not talking about the broader cultural implications." Sirella stopped, lowering her bat'leth. "I'm talking about Martok's position as Chancellor."

There was a pause, and Grilka hesitantly lowered her own sword.

"Martok has always had detractors--"

"All great leaders do," Grilka argued.

"I'm well aware of that. Do not presume to interrupt me."

"I will presume to do as I please."

Sirella sneered, but let it drop. "No one disputes his abilities as a General, or his place in the Order of Kahless. In fact, the worst of them _sing_ of his military triumphs in the Dominion war." She raised her blade and the two began circling. "They say his talents don't translate to politics. They say he's unfit to rule because he was low-born." She laughed bitterly. "You know, all of the cardinal Great Houses are actually low-born or mixed. The _entire_ Imperial Family line was massacred when Emperor Reclaw was slain. They don't sing songs about that, now do they?"

Grilka made a half-hearted swing, which Sirella all to easily dodged.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Martok's love of the Federation and Starfleet has _always_ been a point of contention, and his efforts to reform the Empire's ruling class has made him enemies. Bringing in questionables like Worf and Alexander didn't help, and keeping you on the Council-- even in your insignificant role-- was another strike. But that _damnable Ferengi_ \--" she turned and flung the bat'leth. It struck the wall with a deep thud, embedding into it.

"You can't possibly blame Quark or myself for upper-class malcontents," Grilka said in disbelief.

Sirella went to retrieve her blade, but found it wedged tight. She pressed one foot against the wall for leverage.

"No, of course not," Sirella replied. "The problem, Grilka, is that the Klingon Empire is on the cusp of a revolution. And it will either evolve... or it will self-destruct."

There was a pause, as she struggled with the blade, and Grilka slowly began to see the depths of what she and Quark had stumbled into.

" _If_ your husband succeeds, if he helps clean up the corruption and capitalizes the Empires finances, it will serve to solidify Martok's position. In a broader sense, the effectiveness of his work _and_ of your marriage, will impact future relations with the Ferengi Alliance and likely the Federation." She paused, brushing her hands on her skirt before grabbing the blade again. "If he _fails_ \-- or worse, defrauds the Empire-- it may very well be the tipping point where the entire House of Martok family line is massacred when the Chancellor is slain."

Grilka approached and took hold of the lower hand-grip on Sirella's blade. Together, they managed to work it free, and Sirella stumbled backwards, only just catching herself before falling.

"Quark won't fail, and he would _never_ dishonor my House by crossing the Empire." Even if no one else believed it, she had faith. "Rest assured, Sirella, our marriage will be an _exemplary_ case for cross-cultural, inter-species relations."

While she knew in her heart all of this to be true, Grilka still felt a growing anxiety. Sirella was right about the coming changes. The fact of the matter was: regardless of their success or failure, there was a good chance they'd all be crushed in the death-throes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next up: Violence!_
> 
> \- Sirella _did_ listen to Jadzia's history lesson about Emperor Reclaw, even if she really wasn't feeling it at the time.
> 
> \- As touching as Grilka's faith is, let's be honest: if Quark thought he could scam the Klingon Empire and 100% get away with it, he'd probably do it.


	2. Fatal Doses of Malcontent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The end of this chapter contains violence and gore.

"What is with you and strolling the grounds? Or the promenade? Don't you ever _sit_  and talk?" Quark complained as he was more or less dragged along by the much faster Grilka.

"You need the exercise," she replied point blank.

Tumek laughed. He was trailing behind them, and while he kept a steady pace, stiffness and age made it impossible to keep in step with his Lady.

"You know what I think? I think you do it because you get agitated and need some way to vent."

"That is true," she agreed. "But it doesn't hurt getting you into shape."

"Round _is_ a shape," Quark muttered under his breath. "What did you want to talk about, anyway?"

"Sirella is concerned about how the rest of the Council views Martok's decision to bring in an outsider to handle government affairs." She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "She believes you will fail and it will undermine his position as Chancellor."

Quark snorted. "Tell me something I don't know."

"I would never have encouraged you to take the postion," Tumek said sagely, earning a baleful look from Grilka.

"Look, I'm pretty overwhelmed," Quark continued. "But you don't have to worry. I've got some interesting findings on the investigative front--"

"But nothing new."

He made a face but ignored the remark.

"--and I'm about to start saving the Empire a ridiculous amount of money." His eyes lit up and Grilka braced herself for another agonizing conversation about finance. "One of the simplest, most effective things I did for you was to increase the efficiency of live-food storage and transportation logistics for your ships. If you scale those cost-reductions up to the _entire Klingon Empire_..." he choked up, too emotionally overwhelmed finish the sentence.

"That's all very well," Tumek interrupted, "but matters little if those on the Council don't appreciate it. Or if they challenge you before they can see any results."

"Challenge me over _what?_ " Quark stopped, and Grilka reluctantly waited. "No. They're irritated, but it'll make them look bad if they start harassing a Ferengi. They'll push back on Martok himself, or Alexander."

"Alexander?" Grilka asked, surprised.

"Yeah. You've seen him trying to do this..." he gestured vaguely, searching for the right words.

"Young master Rozhenko is attempting to use this situation to leverage a diplomatic role for himself," offered Tumek.

"Exactly."

Grilka's brows furrowed as she considered this. She _had_ noticed Alex's 'peacekeeper' antics, both in their social circles and at work. Mostly she'd noticed his strange desire to be on Martok's or Sirella's personal guard roster-- a job he was ill-suited for, to say the least. His motivation was transparent: it got him into the Great Hall.

It added another layer of complication. She tugged on Quark's arm and resumed walking.

"The kid's heart is in the right place," Quark said, "but I'm not sure he's even that good at _Klingon_ diplomacy. He's got a very Federation-mindset. I'm worried he's going to get himself killed."

And the moment he said it, Grilka found herself having the same concern.

"Alternatively," Tumek added, "his actions may cause unfortunate repercussions for you."

"I'll... speak with Worf. Perhaps I can convince him to find a way to keep Alex out of the thick of things."

"And find out from Sirella who we need to watch out for."

"Of course I will." This time she stopped, smirking as she leaned forward to nuzzle him in Ferengi fashion. His heart skipped a beat, because there was something impossibly adorable about a tough Klingon warrior doing cute Ferengi gestures.

Tumek grunted in disgust at their affectionate display.

***

As much as he complained about the forced walks, most of their day-to-day conversations happened in the late hours of night, in lieu of sleep. Grilka, too deep in thought to get any rest, was reviewing their potential allies and enemies.

"Our greatest concerns are from the House of Gorgol and the House of Mauhu'r."

Quark made a face. "I can tell you they're both squeaky clean, so it's not like we can find something to extort them with."

"You mean something to get them removed from the Council in a legal and honorable way," she gently corrected.

"Right."

"I'm also concerned about the House of Mulnoz and the House of Noggra. Neither have much pull, but both are strongly conservative Houses that were... displeased when I was given an ancillary seat. Noggra's son Rodek has been quickly climbing the ranks--"

"Oh ho, we don't have to worry about him. He's--" Quark caught himself, and without missing a beat, came up with the most convincing lie he could on the spot. "--an old friend of Worf's. Ah, in fact, House Noggra was very close with House Mogh, so."

Grilka sat up and gave him an intensely scrutinizing look. "What was that, runwI'?" She affectionately called him 'Shortie', but there was a sharp edge to her voice.

He hesitated, debating whether to double-down and stick with the lie, or just ask her not to press the issue. "Please, Grilka, I can't... I shouldn't have said anything. They have ties with Worf and I promise they won't give us any trouble."

"If you say so, then I will consider Noggra an ally to House Grilka." She leaned back down. "My greatest concern is Gorgol, as he is short-tempered and often unreasonable--"

"Rodek is Worf's brother Kurn," he blurted out. "Dax told me about it when she was _really_ drunk, I'm not supposed to know. No one is."

"Kurn is dead. You must have him confused with someone else."

"No, they mind-wiped him, did cosmetic surgery, the whole deal. Noggra took him in and gave him a new identity."

Grilka thought about it for a minute. "You should not have told me this. Never speak of it again."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." She rolled onto her side, resting her head on his shoulder. "There was a time I would've been outraged that Starfleet robbed Kurn of an honorable death. Now... I wish Martok had been able to put through the reform to keep sentencing contained to individuals, so disgrace did not extend to their family. I suppose, in a way, Starfleet is... admirable, in their determination to save those who are casualties through no fault of their own."

He took her hand in his, running his thumb across her knuckles, an intense look on his face.

"If we can find a way to discredit Gorgol and House Mauhu'r, maybe he'll be able to do something about that reform."

She grinned, any lingering anxiety melting away. Quark's dogged persistence meant that once he'd set his mind to something, he'd find a way to make it happen or die trying. For all his guff about self-serving Ferengi values, he was awfully quick to focus on altruistic goals. She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned in for a kiss, but he beat her to it, grabbing the back of her head burying his fingers in her wild hair.

***

The last thing Worf was expecting was company. The last person he expected for unannounced company was Grilka.

No... that wasn't true. Grilka's visit was slightly less surprising than if it'd been her gross little husband. The second to last, then. He grunted in acknowledgement at her guards Vimoc and Rezogh, who stood intimidatingly at this doorway, parting to allow their matriarch through.

"Grilka. It is good to see you," Worf said cautiously. "What can I do for you?"

She smiled and held up a small canister. "We mistakenly received these dried Betazoid plums in a shipment of Lokar beans from Ferenginar." She strolled into his suite, shoving the plums into his hands, gesturing for the guards to stay posted outside. "Quark thought you might use them to make some _unreplicated_ prune juice."

"Thank you. That is very thoughtful." He shut the door, and tensed as he waited for the actual reason for the visit.

She looked around in his sparse living room. "Your apartment could use--"

"Why are you here?" he burst out impatiently.

"I wanted to talk to you about your son Alexander." She clasped her hands in front of her, stern look on her face.

"What of him?"

"These are treacherous times in the High Council." Grilka cut straight to the point. "Alexander is positioning himself as a sort of diplomat, but he is ill-prepared, and in over his head. This puts him in great danger. I feel-- we feel-- that he--"

"You should be more concerned about your husband's safety," Worf interrupted.

"I think our current Council members have a little more self-respect than that. Alex, on the other hand... is a Klingon, one who served in the militia. His incompetence as a fighter means he would lose any real challenge. If you were to arrange for him to serve off-planet for the next few months, it may very well save his life."

To her surprise, Worf deflated. He strolled across the room, tossing the dried plums onto the table before slumping into one of the chairs.

"Alexander is not in any danger." His tone was not one of self-assurance, but resignation.

Grilka was silent, the confused look on her face said everything.

"It... I have seen many things in my years serving Starfleet," he tried to explain. "The future has already been changed: the House of Mogh no longer stands. But I cannot say if it has changed _enough_... to avert the course..." He drifted off, lost in thought.

"Worf. You are a friend and an ally. If there is anything we can do..."

He sat for a minute, silently reflecting, before he continued. "Years ago, an older Alexander came to the past in an attempt to change the future. He _will_ be successful as a diplomat. It's not his life that is danger, it is mine."

"I understand." She didn't _really_ , she couldn't possibly comprehend the entirety of it, but she understood enough. She took a step towards Worf, then thought better of it. "Know that if there is ever a skirmish, I will certainly have your back. You have many friends on Qo'noS."

"That is comforting to know," he said, still distracted.

Grilka hesitated, unsure if she should leave or continue. "There's something else," she said finally.

"What?"

"I discovered that Rodek is your brother Kurn."

Worf snapped out of his reverie, and angrily slammed his fist on the table. "How!? How did that scheming Ferengi find out--" then he fell silent, eyes widening in realization. " _Jadzia._ "

She nodded uneasily.

"I don't need to tell you the importance of you carrying this secret to your grave."

"Of course not. But I felt that you should know that Quark and I know." She paused. "Besides... I wanted to inquire what happened to Kurn's family."

"Ah. Do not be concerned. I have already... resolved Kurn's affairs. His wife died in battle before the House of Mogh fell. His daughters Serosa and Nolko were already married into different Houses, and his youngest Sayri has joined Starfleet."

She gave him a wistful smile. "Inspired by her uncle, no doubt."

"I am quite proud of her." Worf paused. For a moment he came dangerously close to a smirk. "Grilka, it is obvious that you're looking to bolster your position and crush your enemies."

"Naturally."

"You have more support than you know. I once believed Jadzia would be the trailblazer that you've become. Aside from an implacable few, however, others saw her as the Klingon warrior that she was. You have no such benefit -- your choices have been radical and brazen. That... has opened a door for some, and given hope to others. I would like to introduce you to some of your silent advocates, which may prove to be mutually beneficial."

Grilka could tell he was trying to sidestep _something_ \-- Worf was never any good at being coy-- but she was fine with that. After all, he had no choice but to trust her regarding his brother, a secret that Worf himself would have _never_ shared. She knew that forced trust was not the same as earned trust... and even if he felt he could confide in her, he most certainly didn't have faith in Quark.

On the one hand, she wanted to point out that Quark had known about this for years and kept it to himself. On the other hand... he _had_ just told her. Unsolicited. After asking her not to press. It was pretty funny, actually, although Grilka very much doubted Worf would see it that way.

"Go on..."

"Do you remember the young guard, Toq, who serves under this House? He grew up off-world, and lacks social graces?"

She wondered if Worf was aware how much he'd just described himself. "Yes, but I fail to see how one lone, underachieving guard could be beneficial."

"In the Great Hall, perhaps not." He leaned forward, hands pressed together, calculating look on his face. "But you also need steadfast allies in the streets of the First City and in the halls of your own House."

"Tumek has vetted everyone in House Grilka," she scoffed.

"I do not doubt Tumek's judgment. Even so, there _are_ Klingons capable of treachery equal to any Cardassian or Vorta."

It was very curious that he didn't mention Romulans-- the obvious analogy-- and Grilka felt it must have some meaning.

He wasn't wrong, either. While none of her House affiliates had given her cause for concern... the possibility was there. Her marriage to Quark was divisive. Quark himself was divisive. On top of that-- she _had_ been radical and brazen. These things were liable to bring out the worst in people, even honorable Klingons, not to mention the less honorable ones. Grilka didn't want to besmirch the name of any of her household, but the truth was, in any Great House there were those who were _loyal_... and then those who were 'loyal'.

Grilka bit the inside of her lip and studied Worf for a minute.

"Yes. Fine, I will welcome your friend Toq--"

"And his compatriots."

She arched her brow in surprise, but didn't protest.

"--and his compatriots into our fold."

He may have lacked nuance, but he could be surprisingly deft when it came to strategic alliances. This move not only benefited Toq and, in theory, Grilka... it also further cemented Worf's standing with both. Clever.

***

Tensions came to a head sooner than any of them expected.

Grilka watched from the parapet as Alexander and Quark stood outside the entrance of the Great Hall, arguing about-- of all things-- the differences between ancient Russian and modern Ferengi architecture.

It had been a long, tiresome day. Court meetings were adjourned, and the rest of the Council and its ancillary staff where wrapping up and heading home.

She was distracted when Sirella approached. "Lady Grilka. Have you heard of this new tavern with the singing vutwI' quv? It is my understanding that his previous establishment was on your second home, Deep Space Nine..."

Outside, one of the defendants, an older Klingon still awaiting a ruling over his inheritance dispute, made a point to swing past the young Klingon and the Ferengi.

"Go home, verengan Ha'DIbaH!" He hurled the insult and spat on the ground, then kept moving.

"jIHDaq yItlhISQo'," Quark called after him.

Alex sighed in dismay. "yItlhIS **Q** o'," he corrected.

"That's what I just said."

"KUH. It needs to come from your chest. _K U H_."

"kah."

"No... no. Put you _back_ into it. The 'kay' sound it not enough. Say it like-- like you're vomiting the sound out. K U H."

"kh." Quark tried again and Alex slapped his palm against his forehead in dismay.

"You are _hopeless_."

"As entertaining as this is, that man just insulted you and walked away. Aren't you going to answer his challenge?"

Alex startled as he looked up at the two newcomers. It was Othrod of the House of Mauhu'r, and his right-hand-man Ufthak. _Perfect_ , just what they needed. "Cert Poderi," he swore under his breath, unwittingly defaulting to Russian.

Quark was unflappable. "Why? I'll never see that petaQ again, seems like a waste of time to me."

"But he threatened you, aren't you concerned?"

"To be honest..." he started with an earnest tone, but instantly switched gears to rudely sarcastic. "No. No, I'm not."

Ufthak tensed, but Othrod smirked in amusement.

"You would be if you had any sense. Martok is a fool to allow you to sully our Great Council."

"Whoa," Alexander finally spoke up. "Martok-- Chancellor Martok is the best chancellor we've had in ages. I mean, remember all the lives Gowran threw away, trying to discredit him during the Dominion war. And how K'mpec was assassinated by cowards after he'd dishonored the Council by protecting their House. And Azetbur had--"

"This human mutt is trying to educate us on Klingon history," Ufthak growled.

"I have only the greatest respect for Martok," Othrod replied, gesturing Ufthak to stand down. "He was a tremendous General, and has always been an honorable, courageous Klingon warrior." He paused. "It is clear he is doing what he believes is right for Qo'noS. The problem is that what he _believes_ is right, is in fact _wrong_ for Qo'noS."

"But you don't know that," Alex replied.

"You are too close to see it objectively." He placed a hand on Alex's shoulder. "Your own father, Worf, has always put Federation interests above those of the Klingon Empire. After K'mpec's death, the Federation intervened, ensuring Gowron as his successor and destroying the House of Duras. He spearheaded the ascent of Emperor Kahless. Once Gowran no longer kowtowed to the Federation, Worf overthrew him and put Martok into power. Martok is there at the mercy of Starfleet, and working to turn Qo'noS into another version of them."

Alex made a face. It was hard to argue when most of the facts where _technically_ correct, even though they were wrong in spirit. "My father was discommendated _twice_ to protect the Empire, over his and the Federation's interests--"

Ufthak stepped between them, shoving Alex.

"You were being coddled on Earth when these things happened, whelp. What would you know!?"

"I was with my mother K'Ehleyr, among my people, when K'mpec _chose_ Captain Picard as Arbiter of Succession-- and Duras was the one who poisoned K'mpec! And I was on the Ya'Vang when Gowron fell and Martok was named--"

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Ufthak drew his bat'leth and fell into an offensive stance.

"Ufthak," Othrod warned, "stand down."

Grilka grabbed her mek'leth, poised to race over, but Sirella placed a reassuring hand on her back. "Wait. Alexander has no weapon. He is only posturing." The lady of House Martok was right, but Grilka kept a grip on the blade nonetheless.

"No offense," Alex held his arms open, demonstrating his empty hands. "But I'm not going to fight you, and I'm not going to back down until we can reach a _peaceful_ understanding."

He moved, and Ufthak coiled like a snake about to strike.

Quark went to grab at the hostile Klingon's arm. "Enough. He's _unarmed_ , you moron--" And then Ufthak jerked, swinging his bat'leth to the side. " _Hhk_."

There was a shock of blindingly intense pain, which gave way to a sort of dull ache. Quark instinctively clapped his hands over wound, and was startled to find that was the only thing keeping his organs in.

"Ah, you do have guts after all!" It had been an intentionally cruel blow. Ufthak would've struck another Klingon in the head or throat, or at least aimed for a vital organ... evisceration was a _disrespectful_ kill.

Chaos unfolded around him but Quark was strangely calm. It was one of the rare blessings of descending from prey animals: how efficiently their nervous system went into shock after a fatal injury. He had a quite moment of solidarity with the many ancestors who'd been torn apart and eaten alive, accepting their hideous fate with a measure of peace at the end.

Ufthak brushed past him, stumbling backwards, a solid five inches of Grilka's mek'leth buried in his skull. Quark stood by, transfixed by how the entrails bubbling out into his hands resembled a plate of writhing, over-sized gahg. Alexander grabbed the Ferengi, sweeping him up off his feet. He felt both a little embarrassed at being carried and relieved it wasn't Grilka who'd picked him up. His last thoughts before blacking out were that his jacket was ruined, and now he was making a complete mess of Alex's uniform...

...but Klingon fashion was terrible anyway, so it wasn't too great of a loss...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next up: Angst! Just kidding._   
>  _Next up: Tongo!_   
>  _...or IS IT? (Yes it's Tongo.)_


	3. Failures and Nobodies

Much later Quark came to in the worst place in the universe to wake up: a _Klingon hospital_. Oh sure, they had all the same equipment and knowledge of any Federation hospital. They were just indifferent to their patients. More importantly, they didn't believe in the judicious use of painkillers.

Grilka had hilariously fallen asleep standing up. She was propped against the wall next to Quark, her body slouching, head to the side, drooling onto her unkempt hair. He laid there and watched her for a good fifteen minutes while he pushed through the fog of the anesthetic.

"Huy'."

She snorted but didn't wake up.

"Huy' be'nal," or 'Eyebrow-wife'. This time he was a little louder, and she startled out of her sleep.

"ghew run," Grilka replied, wiping her face with her sleeve. Literally, it translated to 'small bug', but in this context the pet name was 'Grub'. She turned and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I never should have pushed you to move to Qo'noS."

"That's what _I_ kept saying," he agreed.

She looked away. "We will stay at Deep Space Nine for now. I've already instructed Tumek to start making arrangements."

"Are you crazy?" Quark sat up on his elbows, wincing. "We can't. And believe me, I want nothing more than to run back to Deep Space Nine _right now_  and see a real doctor."

"I cannot allow my pride to be the death of you, Grub."

He clucked his tongue. "Look, if we cut and run _now_... as far as everyone else is concerned, we'd be proving imbeciles like Ufthak right about us. About Martok. They'd think you were weak." He laid back down, exhausted and losing steam. "Not to mention, it would paint a giant target on my back."

"You're _already_ a target."

"I _know_. But Brows, this is about more than Klingon honor and saving face. I know you're ah--" he caught himself, right before 'afraid' slipped out, "ahh... angry. Angry 'cause you feel guilty and, uh..."

"Powerless."

"Yeah, that." He paused, struggling to stay awake. "We can't back down, not after this. It... it would cause too many problems for Martok... and for us... and for Alex..."

"I know," she replied miserably.

A long silence followed. She thought he'd fallen back asleep, and was surprised when he continued.

"How the hell am I even still alive?" He asked wearily.

"Alexander got you to medical quickly," Grilka was matter-of-fact. "You didn't lose much blood. A gut wound is a slow death, and none of the organ damage was immediately fatal. And despite what you think, our doctors _are_ just as competent as those of the Federation."

Quark snorted. "I've seen Klingons die from less, and I don't have any spare hearts or whatever."

"We only have one heart, it's just twice as efficient." She smiled. "Think about it, Quark. A Klingon who dies in a glorious battle _still wins_. No one wants to be the surviving loser. The courteous thing to do is poison your blades. Not everyone does. For those who do, the toxin's not potent enough to kill from a minor wound. It's simply an... added insurance... that a fatal wound _is_ fatal." She tilted her head to the side. "And evidently, it's useless against Ferengi."

There was another long pause.

"Did you just call me a 'surviving loser'?"

In spite of herself, she laughed.

***

"I'm surprised to see you're still on Qo'noS." Sirella sounded genuine: but whether she felt it was a good thing or not, he couldn't tell.

Quark tried not to show his apprehension as he followed Grilka into the Great Hall. At Worf's suggestion, he'd spent the last week laying low in the so-called 'Terra Town': the First City boroughs occupied by a small but growing population of human immigrants. They were no Starfleet, but at least they believed in the use of narcotics.

"It'll take more than a little disembowelment to get rid of me," he scoffed. His tone did not match his words, but he knew Klingons would respect the bluff. If anything, they seemed to appreciate his 'fake it till you make it' attitude more than actual bravado.

"So it seems." She made a strange face. "Martok will be happy."

"I aim to please."

He tensed when the members of the House of Mauhu'r started to arrive. Sirella looked from Quark to Othrod and back, flashing him a sinister grin.

Grilka placed her hand on the small of his back. "I should come with you," she whispered.

He touched her arm, in a failed attempt to be reassuring. "You _should_ ," he agreed, "but you better not. Stay here."

Gathering all the false courage he could muster, Quark stood tall, and headed straight for Othrod. The night before he'd spent hours rehearsing this moment, and felt certain it would all fall part the second he opened his mouth. As Grilka liked to say: no plan survives contact with the enemy.

"Othrod, son of Lurtz!" He boomed-- or at least, tried.

Othrod looked down, amused. "Quark, son of Keldar. nuqneH."

Quark squared up and crossed his arms, a well-practiced look of determination on his face. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not afraid of you _or_ your cronies." His voice cracked.

"I don't understand." Othrod leaned forward so he could look Quark in the eye. "Was that Klingon? Your accent is too thick, I can't make any sense of it." He smiled. "Just use your translator, little toad."

" _Qu'vatlh._ " He was trying so very hard not to wet himself as he said it. "Is that clear enough?"

Othrod laughed and straightened up.

There was another spike of panic when Sirella stepped behind him. She'd always been very open about her distaste of Ferengi, and Quark in particular, so he was expecting the worst.

"Othrod, a member of my House owes his life to Quark, after Ufthak dishonorably attacked while they were unarmed." Sirella crossed her arms, but unlike the Ferengi, she was not acting. "I would like for you to think of this little toad as an honorary member of House Martok. I expect you to treat him with the appropriate respect." She flashed him that same sinister smile. "Is _that_  clear enough?"

For a moment Othrod was ready to argue what they already knew: that Ufthak had been posturing, and wouldn't have struck _Alexander_. But he could see in Sirella's eyes that she _didn't care_ , and wisely let it drop.

"Of course," he replied. He offered them a quick nod before turning and going to take his place on the Council.

"I could kiss you."

"If you so much as _think_ of trying it, I will slit your throat."

"Blessed Exchequer," he muttered. "It's just an expression, Lady Sirella."

She gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate what you did for Alexander, I'm quite fond of that oaf." Something she would never, ever admit directly to Alex. "Your actions were stupid and unnecessary, but brave. I shouldn't have doubted Grilka." It was surprisingly close to an apology. "Understand that this was a one-time deal. You would be wise to avoid the House of Mauhu'r in the future."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Grilka was grinning unapologetically as he made his way back to her. She held her palms up, fingers curled and wrists together in the typical Ferengi gesture, and he reciprocated. "Qapla'!"

***

"Confront! No-- wait, acquire."

Toq flustered under Quark's withering glare. After the initial introductions and some heated debates, the handful of Carrayan refugees had agreed to let Grilka and Quark in on their not so 'little secret': that they were also part Romulan. Ever since, Worf and Grilka had slowly and carefully brought them into their growing social circle. Toq-- who still held Worf in great esteem-- had been the most eager to fit in.

"Index the margin," Alexander suggested excitedly.

" _No._ " The Ferengi was unable to hide his growing disgust. "No, no, no. _No._ " He threw down his cards. "That's not _how the game works_."

What could he have _possibly_ been thinking, trying to teach Klingons a game like Tongo? Other humanoids could barely muster the intricacies of the game. But _Klingons_... even once they understood the rules, they stubbornly refused to ever 'evade' or 'retreat'. Alex was the only one willing to play with the rules properly, but he was also the one who struggled the most with how to play it in the first place.

It was an unmitigated disaster.

"Confront," Grilka said.

Quark snatched the cards from her hands, then Toq's. Alex was already out. "We're not playing anymore." Worf silently reached across the board to toss his cards into the pile.

Oh, that was right: it was all Worf's idea. He'd kept Jadzia's board-- a gift from Quark-- all those years. His suggestion that Quark teach them to play had been a surprisingly touching peace offering.

Feeling a little ashamed of his tantrum as he stacked and shuffled the cards, he searched for another option. "Do you guys have any games that _aren't_ violent holoprograms?"

"B'aht Qul?" Grilka suggested.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"We used to play poker on the Enterprise," Worf said.

" _That's_ not a half-bad idea."

Poker was not as sophisticated as Tongo, but it was engaging enough in it's own way. Worf already knew how to play it, which meant there'd be one less rank amateur. The Klingons wore their hearts on the sleeves, so perhaps it wasn't the _best_  fit, but it was certainly a better option than _B'aht Qul_  arm wrestling.

Worf slipped off to find his card deck, while Alex helped Quark pack up the Tongo board.

Little by little, things were improving for the small group of friends.

While Quark had been unable to find proof of chicanery from any current Council members, he'd uncovered pretty damning evidence for some who'd already been discommentated. That, in itself, had helped prove out a litmus test of Martok's rulings.

More importantly, some of the restructuring and trade negotiations and cost saving measures he'd instilled were beginning to show results. And oh, what results. Sirella _never_ should have doubted his ability to improve the Empire's financial situation... although it was unlikely he'd ever get an almost-apology for that one.

Which meant that Martok's detractors were getting less and less of a foothold. The political situation was still very tense-- and more than likely, it would always be. Life went on, and things were starting to feel less dire.

All of this had helped strengthen Grilka's position in the Council. What had been a serious liability was now turning into a surprising asset. Knowing that Noggra put righteousness over personal honor, she'd taken the time to befriend him and Rodek, earning more allies for her House.

Alexander... was still not very good at Klingon diplomacy. But he was trying, and he _was_ getting better... however slowly.

Worf returned with the deck of cards and took the Tongo board from Quark. He hesitated for a moment, contemplating giving it back to the Ferengi-- after all, it wasn't like he was ever going to use it. Ultimately, it was Jadzia's and he couldn't bear to part with it. He made a face as he went to put it away. As much as he hated to admit it, Quark was growing on him, like some kind of irritating fungal infection.

***

"Oh, you're back!" Captain Kira almost couldn't believe the sound of her own voice. She was... _happy_ to see the odd couple back on Deep Space Nine? Until recently they'd been popping up every three months or so, but the last visit had been over nine months ago.

If nothing else, Quark had been a consistent feature of the station, and the absence was noticeable. Since he and Grilka had shuttled back and forth, there hadn't been a clean break, like she'd had with Odo, or Sisko, or O'Brien, or more recently, Ezri.

The closest comparison she had was Worf, who's role as an Ambassador had seen him making frequent visits to the station. Not to mention those handful of years he'd quit the job, returning to Star Fleet, before being pulled back with the siren song of the Klingon Empire.

"It is good to see you, Captian Kira!" Grilka greeted her.

"Nerys," Quark said with a nod.

She gave him a terse look, and turned her attention to Grilka. "You guys have good timing. I'm having some friends over for dinner, would you be interested?"

They replied simultaneously.

"Thanks, but we're not interested," Quark said.

"It would be an honor!" Grilka said.

There was a half-second pause before Quark reneged. "We'd be delighted, I mean."

***

It quickly became obvious why Kira had thrown together the little shindig: Jake Sisko was visiting the station.

And he was _not alone_.

With Kassidy being the only one she'd already met, Jake apprehensively introduced the lovely young Bajoran, Korena, to the others: Kira, Tom Riker, Dr. Bashir, Nog, and-- with special trepidation-- Grilka and Quark.

"I take it you two met on Bajor?" Kira asked.

Nog, who'd heard the story several times from Jake, quickly cut in. "Oh no, it was on Earth! Can you believe it!?"

This only served to intensify the others curiosity.

"Oh," Korena explained, "my family relocated to Earth when dad joined Starfleet, shortly after the Cardassian occupation."

"Where you studying at Pennington, too?" Julian asked.

"No, it's a funny story actually... I live in Louisiana. I'm a self taught artist, and Jake's grandfather had hired me to do a mural in his restaurant..."

"It looks _fantastic_ ," Jake said, swelling with genuine pride.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you, Jake-o."

"You're welcome, Korena-bobena."

They laughed, carefree and very much in love, and everyone else melted.

"Oh _no_ ," Julian said what they were all thinking, "they're _adorable_."

"I know, right!?" Kassidy replied.

"Guys, come on." Jake was starting to feel a little sheepish. Little did he know, this was only the beginning.

"How long have you been dating?"

"Our two year anniversary is coming up in July..."

"Two years! Impressive," Tom said. Then he exchanged a knowing look with Kassidy. "Have you thought about--"

"Don't say it!"

"I don't know, Jake," Nog said. "I've got this feeling. I think she might be the one."

Jake choked. "We're a little young to be thinking about that," he replied defensively. Korena laughed in agreement.

"Better too young, than too old," Quark said. "The longer you wait the more you get set in your ways, the harder it is to adjust."

"I guess you would know..."

Grilka waved her hand dismissively. "Leave them alone. They are in love, but that is not enough. They will have to decide for themselves if each is a suitable partner."

Kira nearly spit out her spring wine.

"Love 'is not enough'?"

"Sounds like trouble in paradise," Tom snarked.

"Hardly. Most Klingons view marriage as a battle, but my husband fights at my side, not against me."

Kira quickly gulped down a little more wine, building the nerve to press on. "Then what exactly, I mean, how do you know...?"

"Make no mistake, love is very important. Compatibility and cultural background can make things easier, or more difficult," Grilka explained. "But in the end, those things can be overcome. What I've found to be true is something my father taught me... That a good spouse is the one who is there by your side when everything else is falling apart around you."

Kira looked at her, stunned. For the first time, she understood why the two were a couple.

"Marriage is about making compromises for each other," Grilka continued, "while also supporting one another. You should expect them to champion your dreams and goals, but at the same time, be willing to sacrifice all of those things for their sake."

"Grilka has these great noble ideas about marriage," Quark added, taking a more pragmatic approach. "And she's not wrong, but it's more than that. It's about sharing all your best _and worst_ moments with someone else. Being comfortable enough around someone that you can be yourself without worrying about being judged--"

"I judge you all the time," his wife teased.

He gave Jake a pointed look. "You know it's the real thing when she can do all the things around you she'd never do in public, and _especially_ not in front of someone they're trying to impress. It's..." he searched for the most awful examples he could come up with.

"It's discovering that tube-grub vomit is fouler than you imagined," Grilka suggested.

Jake grew more and more horrified as the conversation continued.

"Exactly! Or that Klingon Bregit-lung farts are as rancid as swamp gas from the Welfare Marshes. It's coming up with the meanest affectionate things to call each other, like 'Bog of Eternal Stench' after the Bregit-lung incident."

Grilka elbowed him. "It's _very_ uncouth to share pet names publicly," she reminded him, clearly embarrassed by the wrong part of the conversation.

"Right, forgot. Sorry."

Julian was laughing quietly to himself, earning a questioning look from Kassidy. He leaned over, amused, to explain. "As a medical professional, I can concur, both on the grub vomit and Klingon flatus."

Kassidy rolled her eyes, because apparently even genius medical professionals loved potty humor.

Then Julian leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "Quark, what happened to your philosophy on women and control? 'Never let them get the upper hand' and 'threaten to see her less, take back the gifts you gave her'?"

His face scrunched up. "Those are rules for _normal_ females."

"Why can't you just admit you never believed in that load of crap in the first place?" Kira demanded.

"Are you calling Grilka abnormal?" Julian pressed, asking the important questions.

"Admitting personal growth is against my religion," he joked. "And Grilka is a _Klingon_. A predator. A wild animal." He flashed his wife a leering grin. "Other humanoids are pussy cats, a Klingon is a tigress."

"Oh, _god_ ," Jake groaned as he hid his face in his hands.

"Get a room," Tom said, amused by the conversation, but even more amused by Jake's mortified reaction.

Korena, who'd been silent this whole time, looked like she was going to sink into the floor.

Kassidy gave her a sympathetic look. "Korena, would you mind checking in with the babysitter, see how Sarah's doing?"

She didn't have to ask twice. The mortified Bajoran quickly darted out of the room.

Jake got up to follow her, but Kassidy quickly grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Oh no, _you're_ not getting off _that_ easy."

***

As last minute as it had been, Kira had done a great job of meal planning, offering a variety of dishes to appeal to every species in the room.

"Home made hasperat soufflé," she beamed as she presented the dish. "Tora Naprem's grandmother's recipe, never replicated."

"Ohhh," Tom said, and Kira slapped his hand away.

Korena helped serve, bringing the next platter in.

"I almost couldn't get this in time," Kira explained, "but for our Klingon guest..."

It was gagh. Of _course_ it was gagh. What else could it have been?

Quark looked like he was going to be ill. Then he got his bearings, and calmed down. Then he looked at the plate of writhing eel worms in front of them, jumped up, and bolted. In theory, he still liked gagh well enough. In practice, his subconscious mind had latched onto the food's unfortunate resemblance to viscera. This often resulted in a violent physical reaction. Given that the meal was a staple on Qo'noS, it was more than a little inconvenient.

He got about two and half meters before it hit, and he doubled over and started violently retching.

"Oh, Prophets!" Kira cried, holding up her hand to obscure the view. Not only was she starting to gag herself, but she also felt a rush of despair over what this was going to do to her carpet. Grilka had not been exaggerating about the awfulness of partially-digested tube-grub.

Julian instinctively got up to help, while Grilka sat calmly.

"Aren't you going to do something!?"

The Klingon gave her a strange look. "Oh, he's fine. It's been like this ever since he was eviscerated."

" _What?_ "

"What happened!?" Nog practically jumped out of his chair.

Grilka glanced over at Julian. "You have about two minutes before he starts up again," she warned the Doctor, before turning her attention back to the table. "There was a misunderstanding. Quark believed our mutual friend Alexander Rozhenko to be danger, and tried to intervene. You remember Worf's son Alexander?" She started to stab at her plate. "I slew the cowardly, murderous _petaQ_ who tried to kill him, but I wasn't able to protect him from being opened up like a slaughtered Ha'DIbaH in the first place. I brought him to Qo'noS, which was a mistake, and now..." she laughed bitterly. "Now he refuses to leave! Do you know what I love most about Quark? His _tenacity_."

She flung the plate of gagh off the table, abruptly got up and headed after Julian and Quark.

There was a long, decidedly unpleasant silence that followed.

"Well, I think that hit a nerve," Tom said.

"I just wanted to have a nice dinner and company," Kira replied miserably. Her appetite was ruined, and she watched in horror as Tom started cutting an extra large slice of the soufflé for himself. "How can you still _eat?_ "

He shrugged.

Kassidy was equally nonplussed. "I have a four-year-old," she said in her defense, as she reached for the groatcakes. "If you think that was bad, you've never changed a diaper after baby's first katterpod beans."

"Are _all_ your friends like this?" a horrified Korena asked Jake.

He opened his mouth to say 'no', paused, and then sheepishly snapped it shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next up: Romulans! In a sense._  
>  \- 'Eyebrow wife' and 'Terra town' are inspired from others, not my ideas.


	4. The Greater the Reward

"Grilka?"

She was in the holosuites, in the middle of an intense training program, working off her rage.

The program was unlike any one he'd seen a Klingon use before. There was a ring of familiarity: she was swinging a short sword in one hand, a parrying knife in the other.

But the movements were alien. Grilka whirled and undulated, with fluid strikes and blocks against an imaginary opponent. Play fighting was an enormously important part of Klingon customs, but _this_  was reminiscent of Orion belly-dancing.

The blades arced and cut through the air as if they were alive, not the usual short, heavy bursts of a swung bat'leth. Her power came from her thighs and hips, where the natural strength of her core was, rather than the trained strength from her back and shoulders.

She was equal parts athletic and graceful, her impressive muscles coiling and rippling under soft caramel skin. It was one of the few times she'd pulled her hair back, the rope-like braid slapping against her shoulders with each sweeping motion.

Quark watched in silence, enchanted by her beauty, not realizing he'd been standing there for nearly an hour.

"I'm not familiar with this program."

"It's a traditional Romulan sword dance."

That only raised more questions than it answered.

"Sorry about the dinner party."

She laughed bitterly. "Why? You couldn't have anticipated what meals Kira would serve."

"I know," he reached out and touched her arm, which was damp from sweat, and quickly pulled away to wipe his hand off on her skirt. "Sorry anyway." He paused. "I'm kind of irritated with myself right now, because I actually believed you were over _this_ ," he gestured vaguely at the air. "But you've just been letting it brew and keeping a lid on it. _Talk_ to me, Eyebrows. Why now? Why here, when we're off Qo'noS, which is what you wanted?"

She struggled to answer.

"Having to explain to your friends-- seeing their well-deserved judgment--"

"Hey now, 'friends' is a strong word."

She gently punched him in the side. "You were right about staying, about what it means for Martok. So I swallowed my despair. The truth of it is, I was never concerned about you coming to Qo'noS. I knew you would behave honorably. Other may have doubted, but I know you too well."

"Oh, well then the joke is on you," he teased.

"I believed no one would be _so craven_ as to attack a _Ferengi_ without just cause. And if they did... I would be there to protect you."

Grilka wasn't stupid... She'd always known this was a possibility. Yet on some level it'd been inconceivable. The attack was a harsh dose of reality. The fact that Quark's 'find a way to make it happen or die trying' could _actually_ end with him dying. The fact that her capabilities as a warrior were meaningless if she wasn't there when she needed to be. The fact that long ago, she'd been so proud of him for facing down a brutal death at D'Ghor's hands, and now the idea something like that happening made her nauseous.

Is this what happened to people in love? They lose their grasp on reality and all perspective?

Quark put on a look of mock offense. "You think I couldn't defend myself?"

"Oh, 'IqnaH QaD." She gave him a pitying look and patted his shoulder.

"' _Booger_ ', really? Can't say I'm a fan of that one..."

"Too bad." Grilka paused. "I hate feeling this way."

"Helpless and afraid?"

Her eyes flashed with outrage. "I didn't say _afraid_." It was clear from her tone that she was. "It's not normal. I hate the idea that you'll die a stupid, pointless death. That it will be on my hands when it happens."

Quark embraced her, flinching slightly at the feel of her now clammy skin. "Grilka, I have complete faith that my death won't be _on_ your hands, it'll be _at_ your hands. I intend to go out like Curzon: Death by jamaharon."

She draped her arms over his shoulders and gave him a questioning look.

"Curzon _Dax?_ "

"The one and only."

"This is not a joke, Grub." She rested her forehead against his, eyes closed.

"Who's joking? Ask Ezri." Then, more seriously, he continued. "Fear is normal, even for Klingons, and you're delusional if you believe otherwise. What makes you think Deep Space Nine is any safer, anyway? I've been shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten, _branded_ like a cattle--"

"What?"

"--falsely imprisoned, kidnapped, exiled and destitute--"

"Enough. I understand."

"Do you, though? You think the Bajorans are more accepting, less prejudiced? At least Klingons look you in the eye when they stab you. Grilka, I've been through the Cardassian occupation _and_  the Dominion occupation. Hell, even your last husband Kozak was trying to kill me when he bit the dust."

"Kozak wouldn't have killed you, regardless how drunk he was," she argued. "He likely would have just taken out a piece of your ear."

"Well _there's_ a comforting thought." He paused. "I'm tougher than I look, you silly female. And if you're this wound up now, how bad is it going to be when we have kids?"

She snorted. "Any child of mine will be born a warrior."

"Yeah, right. _Our_ spawn will be half-Ferengi, so we'll see how that works out for you."

"Half-Ferengi _warrior_ ," she insisted, moving her head to the side to playfully bite at his neck. "A bat-leth wielding, blood thirsty, powerful warrior..."

"...cunning, scheming, avaricious..."

"Oh, they will be _monsters_."

He laughed and kissed her. "You know it."

***

They were back on Qo'noS for less than a month when Quark got a summons for Ferenginar.

It was _strange_. Rom had been trying to get his brother to come home-- or at least make regular visits-- for years. The times Quark were obligated to go, however, were few and far between: Rom's inauguration as Nagus, for one. When Ishka and Zek had moved back from Risa. After Zek's first stroke. The services for his and Grilka's child.

Rom never abused his powers as Nagus to force the issue. Needless to say, Quark was taken aback by the summons... and then elated, as the reality of it sunk in.

"This is a _business_ meeting, not a personal invitation. A. Business. Meeting."

"Oh," his put-upon wife replied, in the most supportive tone she could muster.

"It means I've made it! Grilka, I'm in the big leagues!"

She looked confused. "You're not even running a business right now."

"I still own the bar," he said dismissively. "Even better than that," he grinned triumphantly and tugged on his jacket lapels. "I'm Quark of the _House of Grilka_ , the first and _only_  Ferengi to be a part of a Great House on Qo'noS. Treasurer to the Great Council of the Klingon Empire, the _only_  Ferengi to have a position in the Klingon government. Unofficial ambassador of Ferenginar--"

"Holder of the sacred Chalice of Rixx, and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed," Alexander mocked.

" _What are you even doing here?_ "

"You guys invited me over?" Alex looked slightly bewildered as he dodged the padd Quark chucked at him.

"Tumek, see this uncultured Dopterian out of our house."

" _Quark._ " Grilka's firm tone was a flimsy cover for her obvious amusement.

"Fine, fine. Stay." He wagged a finger at the budding diplomat. "But I don't want any more lip out of you."

***

He returned to Qo'noS shortly after, with an over-inflated ego, a finally official 'Ambassador' title, and a gift for Grilka that was nearly as tall as he was.

She was impossible to shop for. Sure, she thought flowers were nice enough, and she wore jewelry when the occasion called for it. However, Grilka's tastes were particular and she didn't swoon over these kinds of gifts the way that Quark's old girlfriends had. For a lack of better options, he'd gotten into the unfortunate habit of buying her exotic liqueurs, only because it was something he knew and was comfortable with. It wasn't ideal, though, somehow it felt like he was trying to underhandedly guilt her over leaving the bar behind.

So Quark was quite pleased with himself when he offered her the enormous broadsword.

"It's a traditional Gorn weapon, made of genuine crystal steel by Bolian artisans."

It _was_ very impressive looking. Not just the intimidating size and curve of the blade, but the crystal steel glimmered and flashed with a beautiful iridescence.

Grilka held her hand flat and balanced it on her palm, then gripped the handle and bounced it, before giving it a few trial swings.

"Why would Bolians make a Gorn blade?"

"What?"

She gave him a look that was a mix of amusement and pity. "I think you've been had, Grub."

" _What?_ "

"It's very lovely, but it's also useless. The balance is all wrong-- and that's coming from a bat'leth wielding Klingon."

He understood the reference-- he'd lost count of how many times had she explained _why_ the bat'leth was an intentionally imbalanced blade: how it forced the user to build on their skills and to develop their body, instead of relying on the simplicity of their weapon. How its awkwardness helped even the playing field, so that innately talented swordsmen were forced to compensate as much as someone without aptitude.

She saw how defeated he was and leaned forward to kiss him. "It was very thoughtful of you, though, and I will treasure it always. It will go in a prominent place in the weapons-room--"

"Better not," he replied. "I won't be offended if you stuff it in storage, but if you really want to display it, put it in the bedroom or something. Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it from Worf."

"You have a point," she agreed. "Even if this sword does not."

He rolled his eyes.

She gave the sword another playful swing-- it was a _terrible_ blade-- and gave him a questioning look. "Now that your back from 'business', how would you feel about taking a 'holiday'?"

***

Captain Nemaira'd had some strange requests over the years, and most of them had to do with the supply line to the former prison camp on Carraya IV. This, without a doubt, was the strangest by far.

"Tokath!" she greeted the former general.

"Nemaira," he replied with a nod. "I shall have my men begin unloading in..." he paused, catching the look in Nemaira's eyes. "What is it?"

The younger Romulan shifted uncomfortably, glancing around at the small colony.

During the on-again, off-again alliance with the Federation, it had been formally abandoned as a prison. The population had shifted when nearly a quarter of their young adults left with the Klingon warrior Worf; and there'd been a second shift when it was liberated. The Romulans who stayed did so as civilians, not guards. This, perhaps, had a greater impact than anything else. Both Romulans and Klingons were true equals, and though it was no small feat, they'd been able to finally move past the lingering resentment of where they'd begun.

This latest turn meant another upheaval, and Nemaira was reluctant to be the bearer of potentially bad news. She liked the colony, and was proud of what they'd accomplished here on Carraya IV.

"L'urow and Toq have returned," she said finally. "And... they have brought visitors."

"Visitors?"

"It is a Klingon woman and... a Ferengi."

Bewildered, Tokath was momentarily at a loss for words. "Visitors?" he echoed. "One is a Ferengi?"

"Perhaps if you brought L'Kor and Gi'ral to the supply ship," she suggested.

"Yes, of course."

It didn't take him long to round them up, along with Ba'ktor, Tativa, and a few other of the original settlers. Toq and L'urow met them outside the supply ship's runabout, and emotions were high as they tearfully reunited with their parents.

"My son!" Ba'ktor cried. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I'm just here to visit," Toq replied. "Now that the colony's free, and, well... I'll let Grilka explain..."

"I'm back," L'urow wheezed as she gasped for air, affectionately crushed in her mothers bear-hug. "Qo'noS was-- something. But this is my _home_."

"L'urow!" Tativa started to weep. "Oh how we've missed you!"

"It is good to have you back," Tokath agreed. "Even if it's only temporary." He looked up at the doorway to the runabout. "I see you've brought company."

Grilka gathered herself before stepping out-- it was strange to be traveling without her entourage. Quark hesitated, then followed.

"Grilka, daughter of Hakor, of the House of Grilka," she introduced herself.

"Welcome to Carraya IV."

"You must be Tokath. I am here on behalf of Worf, son of Mogh. I've given him my word to keep this colony secret," she reassured them. Then she glanced back at Quark, before grabbing his jacket lapel and pulling him forward.

"Quark, son of Keldar, also of the House of Grilka. I gave my word too," he coughed, "under duress."

"This idiot is my husband," she explained.

Tokath's eyebrows were raised so high they disappeared under his bangs. For as much bad blood as there'd been between Romulan and Klingon, the two cultures had much in common. The couples that formed on the Carraya colony were natural compared to the pair standing before them.

"It seems obvious why Worf chose to send you. I take it this is not simply a social visit."

"Sure it is," Quark joked. "We're wayfarers looking to rough it out on obscure back-woods planets. We just happened to run into these guys while we hitchhiked across the galaxy."

Tokath and the older Klingons looked confused, and Grilka drove her elbow into Quark's side.

"He's being facetious."

***

"Chancellor Martok has been rolling out reforms that will prevent discommendation from effecting the entire family. The downside is that this means less social pressure to abstain from dishonorable conduct," Grilka explained. "That said, we feel the positives outweigh the negatives."

"You can go home, or to Romulus, or the Federation-- if you want-- and your families won't be punished," Quark pointed out the obvious.

"You've made a beautiful home for yourselves on Carraya IV. It's... even better than what Worf described. It is a shining testament to inter-species peace and cooperation. We completely understand if you choose to keep it hidden as you have."

"Things have improved since Worf left," Tokath admitted. "We are a true colony now, not a prison."

"If you wanted," Quark added, "you could open the colony up to other weirdos and misfits."

This earned him some questioning looks.

"Mixed families such as yourselves, or those who simply believe in the cause." Grilka paused. "Obviously we don't expect an answer now. We'll keep an open line of communication with Captain Nemaira. Likewise, any of your children who should choose to leave are welcome, now and in the future. We will see to it they get the needed identities and cover story."

Tokath exchanged glances with his wife Gi'ral.

Open the colony up to others?

The idea was so bizarre, so foreign, it was difficult to wrap their minds around.

All the same, there was something about it that rang true.

***

Quark nudged her sharply. "Worf's sure got a type, doesn't he?" He whispered, and wisely followed up with: "Of course, you're much more beautiful than her."

"You wished to speak with me?"

Grilka smiled warmly as she placed a hand on Ba'el's shoulder. "Ba'el. I am Grilka, daughter--"

"I know who you are. What is it you want?"

For a half-second Grilka looked irritated at Ba'el's testiness.

"Worf asked me to speak to you personally. He wanted to show you that there _is_ a place on Qo'noS for you and yours. Although not everyone will be welcoming... there are those of us who would be glad to have you, and to offer you support."

A dark look flashed in Ba'el's eyes.

"It's been _ten years_. Does Worf really think I've been sitting around all this time, keeping my life on hold, hoping he'll come back to rescue me from some Romulan prison?"

"Not at all," Quark said. "We're here with an opportunity. It's up to you and the others to decide if it's a wise investment-- or not."

Ba'el broke away from Grilka, and paced across the room.

"I want to leave," she said finally. "But it's not that simple. I'm married-- it was a marriage of convenience. Shodok will want to stay... and he'll want our children to stay. Khal and Ashar are old enough to choose for themselves, but the baby..." she drifted off, lost in thought.

"Whatever you decide," Grilka said, "you and your family are welcome to join the House of Grilka on Qo'noS."

"I... thank you. It's a very generous offer." Ba'el paused for a moment. "Not to sound ungrateful, but _why?_ "

It was strangely difficult to put into words. Of course, Worf had asked Grilka as much-- which was a rather presumptuous of him-- but ultimately the decision was hers.

Grilka had been so sure of her course, only to have found herself thrown into turmoil, and self-doubt, and if she was being _really_ honest, fear. Being afraid to stay on Qo'noS, feeling _unwelcome_ on her home planet... with everything else going on, she'd pushed that part of it to the back her mind, focusing on the more pressing issues.

Time and friendship had relieved the uneasy sense of alienation, and she would always hold Qo'noS dear in her heart, but there was a small lingering doubt that simply hadn't existed before.

The way that Worf, and even Toq, had spoken about Ba'el... how her desire to embrace the Klingon lifestyle was smothered by anxiety over being spurned, of being unwelcome... well, that had struck a chord.

"So you can have a little distance from all the boar targs over in House Martok," Quark said, teasing.

Grilka shook her head. "I would not be where I am today without advocates such as Chancellor Martok himself. It is my hope to become the stronghold that others have been for me. The House of Grilka is a lesser House, so while I cannot open its doors to all... your situation was particularly relatable."

Ba'el looked like she was about to respond, but was cut off by Quark's mock protest.

"Wait, when did you decide all that? Don't I get any say in who gets invited?"

"No."

***

Quark spent most of the night tossing and turning and huffing and sighing and generally making a nuisance of himself. As a Klingon, Grilka would've been just as content sleeping on the hard ground. She didn't care that the bed was uncomfortable, but her husband's constant fidgeting was keeping her up.

"Would you lie still," she said dryly.

"No," he fussed.

Then he sat up.

"I can't sleep. Let's violate this horrible bed."

Grilka sighed. "This place is crawling with half-breed children. I have little doubt this bed has already been violated many times."

"Well yes, but not with Ferengi-grade levels of depravity." He grinned playfully. "We could work on our _own_ little half-breeds..."

He was kidding, of course, but she sat up and gave him a focused look.

"Actually, I've been thinking about getting the hormonal pre-treatments and genetic re-sequencing on my eggs..."

His face fell, because nothing quite killed the mood like a serious medical discussion about fertility issues. Still, they both knew this conversation was a long time coming. He scooted over closer to her.

"Are you sure you're ready? We've only been married for a little over a year..." It was hard to believe it'd been that long already, actually.

"We've been together for six years," she replied. Which was technically true, even if their relationship hadn't been that straight-forward. "Besides, your younger brother already has a grown son. Don't you want your own to inherit your business and assets? You could die at any moment and if Ufthak _had_  killed you, everything would have gone to junior Lieutenant Nog--"

"You know you can call him just 'Nog', right?"

"Everything would've gone to Just Nog."

"Very funny. You could die at any moment, too. How about that?"

"Unlikely."

She had him there.

"If you truly are not ready," Grilka continued, "then I will not press."

"No, it's... fine. I mean, you let me know what your expectations were going into this." Quark hesitated for a moment. "Children as some nebulous future concept is a lot easier than children as a concrete action plan. Rom was the family one, not me, and there's this feeling of 'hey, you're settled and in a rut, might as well produce some spawn'..."

She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Here I thought I was your escape from a rut. Marry a wild tigress, run off to a planet of barbarians, help me destroy the Empire from within through miscegenation."

"Divine Treasury," he laughed. "What's the last part from, Sirella?"

"Who else?" She paused. "We don't have to go back to Qo'noS if you don't want to. Enough time has passed that no one would view it as 'running away'. We don't have to go to Deep Space Nine, or Ferenginar, for that matter. We can live anywhere we pleased."

"Like Risa."

"Ha. More like Carraya IV."

"No offense to the lovely people of this colony," he replied, "but there's no way I'd live on this backwards technologically deficient hole."

She laughed, but Quark fell into a silent reverie after that, mind drifting as a slow dawning realization came over him.

He'd lived on Deep Space Nine for so long, he was sure that that he'd never, ever feel at home anywhere else. But when Grilka talked about leaving Qo'noS, with the dry hot air, its hideous architecture, its sharp angles and harsh surfaces and gray, drab, concrete-and-steel brutalist aesthetic...

With Chancellor Martok and the Great Council, Lady Sirella, Worf, Alexander, and Toq, and Tumek, and Vimoc, and...

Alex's terrible impersonations, and long nights getting drunk off of skunky bloodwine with friends, and trying to teach Klingons Tongo...

The latest batch of young hybrid Klingons who'd be looking for support from that first generation who'd kicked the doors down...

And knew that somehow, _somehow_... Qo'noS managed to firmly lodge itself in that part of his brain where Deep Space Nine had resided for so long.

"Quark?"

He kissed her wrinkly forehead. "Brows, I'll go wherever you want. But if you ask me, I don't want to leave our home."

"House Grilka," she said, nuzzling him.

"House Grilka," he agreed. And then: "You know, they still don't have any bars in Terra Town? A Federation-style venue would easily become _the_ social hub for all those expats... I mean, when you think about it, it's just good business..."

***

They took the runabout back to the supply ship the following morning, along with five of the Carrayans, including Ba'el, with a gurgling infant in her arms and middle child Ashar at her side.

"Welcome to the club, Mak'dars," Quark had greeted them, much to Grilka's chagrin.

On the flight home, he kept trying to bet against her as to whether or not Worf would pursue Ba'el even with the children. Which was ridiculous, because they both knew Worf was going to try at least. Failing that, he started pressing her for odds that Worf would succeed.

***

"DEATH BY JAMAHARON!"

Quark managed to get halfway out of his coat when Grilka collided into him, grabbing and forcing him into a slightly painful arm-lock. Telling her about Curzon's final moments had been a mistake, it was now her favorite battle-cry.

"Whoa! Wait--!" He protested as she started pushing him towards the courtyard.

"What is it?"

"They'll be able to see us from the upper suites!"

She grinned wickedly. "They'll only look once, Booger."

"Damn it, woman, I told you to stop calling me that..."

Then they were out the door. She released the arm-lock only to shove and pin him to the ground, destroying another jacket.


	5. Epilogue: Wait by the River

"Othrod...?"

He was a proud Klingon, and had never cried in his life, but his eyes were suspiciously wet.

Stepping off of the runabout, he held out his hands, and Gi'ral threw herself into his open arms.

"Othrod! It really _is_  you...!"

"Mother," the word sounded strange, felt alien on his tongue. Mother... who he had not seen since he was a pup. Mother... who's picture he'd snuck glimpses at when he'd dig through his parent's personal effects. Mother... who he'd long believed to be a victim of the Khitomer Massacre.

"When we got word from Captian Nemaira... I couldn't believe... and yet... here you are." She straightened out, proudly grasping his shoulders, carefully appraising him. "You're bigger than I imagined!" Then she gestured to the patiently waiting Romulan. "This is Tokath."

"Tokath. I have heard many fine things about you. It is good to meet you."

"I am relieved that you are not... offended..."

Othrod raised his hand. "Please. You have saved my mother, given her a new life, and made her a happy woman. I-- all these years, I thought she had died along with my father Lurtz. How can I be anything _but_ grateful?"

Tokath nodded in understanding, and Gi'ral pulled her son back in for a second hug, laughing as she did.

"Well, have you met your sister yet?"

"Sister?"

"Ba'el left for Qo'noS several months ago."

"...Ba'el?"

"Yes! My little girl. I believe she's joined the House of Grilka."

"Grilka and her husband were the ones who convinced us to declare the colony and open ourselves up," Tokath explained. "When we saw that a Klingon and Ferengi were able to make a life for themselves on Qo'noS, it convinced L'Kor and the others that things had changed for the better back on their home planet."

Othrod's expression was equal parts bewildered and contempt. " _That Ferengi?_ " He pulled away from Gi'ral for a moment, then shook his head and threw his arm over her shoulder. "Unbelievable." Then he quickly dropped the subject. "I've seen Ba'el around, yes, but never met her..."

There was a old Earth phrase that O'Brien once told Quark: 'If you wait by the river long enough, the bodies of your enemies will float by.'

Such as it were, Othrod of House Mauhu'r was defeated by compassion. He never apologized for Ufthak's attack. But a few months after reconnecting with his long-lost mother, he _did_ nominate Grilka for a major seat on the Great Council. The two feuding Great Houses became allies, and slowly, gradually, the cultural shift on Qo'noS continued.


End file.
